When Fates Collide...
by Isra
Summary: quite a bit more serious than the last lotr thing i posted. What if the Fates decided that Frodo needed a bit of help as ringbearer? Why not? he needs all the help he can get...READ and REVIEW *CH 5 is up, and finally, we get into some action!*
1. The Fates decide...

            Weaving.  Weaving.  Forever weaving the lives of all.  Three women—one young, one old, one older.  They weave as they see all with vacant eyes, eyes that shine in the darkness.  The youngest clothed in blinding white, the older clothed in comforting gray, the elder clothed in a black that seems to swallow things whole.  

            They weave the fates of all.  They see all.  They know all.

            -_A great evil is rising,_ the Maiden said as she spun the thread, her voice echoing in the empty chamber, a voice so light and high a ear had to strain to hear it.

            _-Yes—a great evil is rising, _the Mother repeated as she wove the thread into the Great Tapestry, the Cloth of Life.  Her voice was both beautiful and crushing, bearing down and yet lifting up those who heard it.  _Once again he is stirring in Mordor._

_            -HE IS STIRRING IN MORDOR_, hissed the crone, her voice horrible, killing all warmth and joy.  _HE WHO HAS CHEATED DEATH, WHO HAS ESCAPED FROM MY SHEARS._

_            -SAURON…_

            _-He longs for the one Ring, _said the Maiden.

            _-The one Ring,_ said the Mother.

            _-THE RING OF POWER—NO BEING SHOULD HAVE IT,_ the Crone hissed.

            -_It should have been destroyed,_

_            -It should BE destroyed._

_            -BUT NO ONE CAN FIGHT ITS CALL._

The Mother fingered one thread that she had just begun to weave into the tapestry.  _There is one born to bear it._

Three pairs of vacant eyes fixed upon that one thread.

            _-A Ringbearer, _said the Maiden.

            -_THE HOBBIT._

_            -His fate is undecided—he may fail, _the Mother said as her hand drifted from the thread.

            _-I FORBID IT!  _The Crone hissed.  _I WILL NOT LET HIM ESCAPE MY SHEARS AGAIN.  I WILL CUT SAURON DOWN!_

_            -Then we must ensure that the hobbit succeeds, _the Maiden said as she spun a new thread.

            -_DESTINY CAN SUMMON A PROTECTOR FOR THE GREATLY BURDENED ONE._

_            -But it must be one that can be strong, _the Mother said as she paused her weaving to run her hands along the threads that were there.  _One that can resist the call of the One Ring._

_            -Shall it be from among the elves?_ The Maiden asked as the Mother's hands drifted above the immortal Elven threads.

            -_Nay—not of the elves._

_            -THEN OF THE DWARVES? _Asked the Crone as the Mother's hands drifted above the dwarves threads.

            -_Not of the dwarves.  Not of the race of Men.  They are strong, but I fail to find one that can truly ignore the ring's call.  The one we summon must escape that temptation to be chosen._

Her hand continued to drift over the innumerable threads, until her hand paused over one small thread.

            -_Yes…_she slowly said as she reached for the thread.  It was a new thread—a newborn.  _Yes—she will do…_

The Mother slowly took up the thread in between her thumb and middle finger.  The three Fates visions were filled with the image of a warm hobbit hole, a proud hobbit-father, a weary but happy hobbit-mother.

            "A girl!" the hobbit-father cried, his voice distant and weak to the ears of the Fates.  

            "Yes—a beautiful healthy girl," the hobbit-midwife said, her voice just as distant and weak.  "A daughter to be proud of."

            "Milo," came the hobbit-mother's voice, even weaker from childbirth.  "You promised if it were a girl, we would name her Mira."

            "Then Mira it shall be!" the father-hobbit cried in delight as he held the bundle in his arms.  "Mira Sandybanks!"

            -_Yes—her heart is open to me.  Her future is clear.  _The Mother said.

            -_Her heart will not falter at the Ring's Call,_ the Maiden said.

            _-HER STRENGTH WILL BE GREAT.  _The Crone said.

            -_SHE IS THE ONE._


	2. The time has come...

            _Ok, I rarely ever put these in my stories, since I feel that it's just a given when your writing a fan fic.  BUT, I figure, it can't be a bad habit to get into.  None of the characters that Tolkien made are mine, since (DUH) they are Tolkien's.  The only ones that belong to me are the Fates and that hobbit-maid—and I guess you can say her family is mine as well.  Anyway, I shall end this bothersome chatter, and continue on with my story._

"Lorelle—what troubles your heart?"

            The hobbit-maiden looked up from the bow she had been idly holding in her hands, and into the face of the Lady of Lothlorien.

            "Lady Galadriel," the hobbit-maiden replied in Elvish as she swiftly rose to her feet, startled.  "Lady Galadriel…I was just…"  But her voice faltered, as her words failed her.  

            "Come Lorelle Serilda," Galadriel said, calling the hobbit-maiden by her full Elven name.  "You saw something while you were standing sentry today.  What was it that has silenced your tongue and made you think heavy thoughts?"

            Lorelle walked with the Lady Galadriel, bow still in hand, deep in thought.  "They appeared to me while I was scouting the western border," she finally said.  

            Galadriel knew of who she spoke.  "Lachesis, Parca and Atropos came to you."

            "Yes, Lady Galadriel—the Three Fates."

            "And what did the Three say to you."

            Lorelle's face became emotionless as she looked down at the bow.  "They chanted the same prophesy they once told you."

            "Ah, yes…the day they delivered you to me.

_This small one shall bear up the Burdened one,_

_When that burden proves too great._

_She will lead him into the Dark Land,_

_Right passed its very gate._

            A shiver ran through Lorelle.  "Yes Lady Galadriel.  That is the prophecy they spoke.  Then they pointed Northwest, towards Hithaeglir."

            Lorelle fell silent once again as they continued their walk.  Galadriel looked down at the hobbit-maiden, love in her piercing eyes.  The Fates had brought Lorelle to Lothlorien not even thirty-three years ago—a mere blink in an Elf's long life.  They had brought the sleeping babe, stolen her from her family and transported a long distance from her true home.  They placed the babe at Galadriel's feet, with no more words than a prophecy and _Raise her to be strong—raise her to fight._

            And Galadriel had raised her, lovingly, yet aloof.  For one day, the girl would leave, and it would be improbable that she would return.  Hobbit's lives were mere breaths compared to elves' longevity.

            "And what do you think they mean you to do, Lorelle?" Galadriel asked, though she knew the answer already in her heart.

            Lorelle's head rose, and she looked to the Northwest.  Galadriel could feel that she was looking passed the Elven homes, passed Hithaeglir. 

 "The time has come m'lady."  Lorelle said, her tone emotionless.  Her hands involuntarily tightened around her bow.  "I can feel an urgent cry from past the Mountains—the ring bearer is traveling towards Rivendell."

"Then you must travel to meet him."  Galadriel said, her words making the truth final.  "When do you plan to set out towards Rivendell?"

"I plan on riding out before dawn rises over Lothlorien tomorrow."

"So soon?" Galadriel asked, surprised, but calm.

"I fear that I shall find I am too late."

Galadriel placed her hand lightly on the young hobbit's shoulder.  There was a weight on this young girl's soul, and yet, Galadriel knew that it was a weight she was prepared to carry.  

"Lady Galadriel," Lorelle started, her voice soft.  "Do you believe that the Fates chose wisely?  Was I really the only one suitable for this task?"

"You must not doubt Lorelle.  Doubt will lead your heart into darkness.  You must have faith."

Lorelle looked but at the Lady, and bowed deeply.  "Your words will guide me in my actions," she whispered.  "I shall remember all I was taught here—I will succeed."

And with that, the hobbit-maiden took her leave.

~*~

            It was well before dawn when Lorelle awoke in horror.  A sharp pain quickly receded as she leapt out of her bed and threw on her tough yet light elven clothes.  Such a fear had shaken her to her very core.  Something had happened to the ring bearer—Lorelle feared that she had failed before she had even begun.  

            Her things had been packed that evening, and her swift and sure-footed horse was awaiting her in the stables.  She made no attempt to silently creep out of her home, built under the raised roots of one of the Lothlorien trees.  Time had—in a heartbeat—become of the essence.

            She made her way to the stable.  The ache in her shoulder was gone, but the weight in her heart was still there, growing with every footstep.  What terrible thing could have happened in the short span of a few hours?

            Her house, Abargon, stood in its stall.  She sensed her mistress' distress, and neighed softly.  "We must fly," Lorelle whispered as she placed the pack on the horse's back.  "We must fly like the North Wind."

            "But before saying your farewells?"  The soothing voice of Galadriel washed over Lorelle, quieting her beating heart.  Galadriel looked with concern upon the wide-eyed, pale hobbit.  "What has happened to send you into flight?"

            "I feel as if I have been touched  by a great evil," Lorelle said as she secured the pack.  "And I know in my heart that the ring bearer is in danger."

            Galadriel walked with Lorelle as she led Abargon out of her stall.  "Where will you ride too?"  Galadriel asked as Lorelle put her cloak on, and fastened it.

            "I shall ride West for the Dimrill Dale, and if I make it through the mountain pass, I shall ride North," Lorelle replied.  "I do not know where he is—but I know I must find him."

            Lorelle turned towards the Lady Galadriel, and Galadriel looked down into the hobbit-maiden's solemn face.  "I wish that whatever journey I undertake returns me to Lothlorien," Lorelle said as she looked into the Lady's face. 

            "Whatever journey it my be, it will be a harsh one—I fear that even you might snap under the strain.  Be strong, my little one, but not so strong that you break.  Even a mighty tree must sway in the wind in order to stand tall."

            Galadriel bent over, and took Lorelle's hand in her own.  "I offer you this gift in parting," Galadriel said as she closed Lorelle's hand around the object she had just placed there.  Lorelle opened her palm, and there laid a ring, a ring of such beauty that it gave Lorelle a sense of peace.  It was a band of pure-silver, with a lavender stone set in its center that sparkled with it's on inner light.  

            "This ring holds no power—it will not protect you from the enemy nor make your path easier.  But may it bring you hope when there is naught but despair, bring you peace when it seems you have failed, bring you light when all is but an endless darkness.  May it remind you of what you have set out on this quest to do—by protecting the ring bearer, you protect all of Middle Earth."  

            Lorelle placed the ring tenderly on her finger.  She tried to thank the Lady, but words failed her.  She gently kissed the Lady's hand, and pulled herself onto Abargon's back.  There was no bridle or saddle on Abargon, and yet there was no danger of fallen off—Abargon would not allow it.

            "Farewell Lorelle Serilda—may you succeed, and come safely home again," said Galadriel, bestowing a final blessing.

            Lorelle looked at the Lady of Lothlorien one last time, love and thanks in her eyes.  Turning away, she spoke a soft command to Abargon, and was off, never once looking back at the Elven Queen that stood there until the moment she rode out of sight.  


	3. The Council of Elrond...

Far from Lothlorien, and eighteen days after Lorelle had rode out, the Council ofElrond was meeting in Rivendell.  Frodo Baggins sat to the right of Elrond, and looked at the others seated in the circle.  It still boggled his mind that there he sat amoung elves, dwarves and men, having just barely survived death from a ringwrath's blade.  Indeed, the wound still ached, but he felt otherwise strong and ready for the meeting.

            Gandalf sat to his right, and Strider sat across from him—but other than Gloin, he recognized no one else.

            For long they spoke—spoke of the Dwarves troubles, of the Battle of Dagorlad of long ago, and of the darkness that now threatened the South.

            Eventually, Frodo was called forth to reveal the Ring—all eyes watched as he walked forward to the center, and placed the Ring down of the stone table with a trembling hand.  The sight of Isildur's Bane cast the group into thoughtful and deep silence.

Such relief flooded Frodo as he walked back to his seat.  He had carried the Ring this far—nothing more could possibly be asked of him, could possibly happen to him.

"Indeed," Boromir finally said, breaking the silence.  "It is amazing how the fate of all we hold dear depends on that band of gold."

"It is hardly a mere band of gold," Elrond said as he looked at the Ring.  "Into it Sauron poured all of his evil, all of his will, all of his power."

"But it is truly the One Ring?" Boromir asked, never taking his eyes off of it.

"It is—that shall be," but Elrond was interrupted.

An elf, eyes wide with some indiscernible emotion had run to the porch were they were seated, and bowed to Elrond.  "My lord," he started.

"Why have you interrupted us?" Elornd asked as he looked down at the elf with a critical eye.

"I fear this news is of great urgency," said the elf.  "And yet, I hardly now what to make of it myself.

"There is a _halfling_ demanding audience with you, claiming to seek out the one who bears Isildur's Bane."

A murmur rose among those seated at the Council, and Frodo shrunk in his seat as all eyes once again turned towards him.  'What NOW has followed me?' he thought, dread filling his heart.

Elrond had risen in alarm.  "Who is this who seeks out the ringbearer?  What is his name, and from where has he come?"

"_She claims to have traveled from Lothlorien with the Lady's blessing," said the messenger.  "She says she is called Lorelle Serilda, and claims that it would be folly to deny her audience."_

"Bring her here." Elrond told the messenger.  But turning towards the Council, he order, "No one is to give allusion of who has borne the Ring—this new development bodes ill for me."

"And yet," Gandalf said suddenly, "I feel it in my heart the nagging memory that we have naught to fear."

"Yet no cautious measure can be too great," was Elrond's reply.  Turning back towards the messenger, he started to motion for him to leave.

But he was interrupted once again by the cries of two frantic hobbits.  Merry and Pippin came running to the porch, waving their arms in distress.

"Lord Elrond!" Merry cried as he ran to the Elf's seat.  "I'm afraid some unwelcome company is coming this way!"

"And she's already taken down two elves that tried to stop her—knocked them out cold!" Pippin cried.  "And not only that, but she's coming after YOU Frodo!" he continued, turning towards Frodo.  "You've got to go hide somewhere—she looks cross as two sticks,"

It was then that Merry turned pale, and started to nudge Pippin.

"I'm telling you Frodo, she looks like she out for blood!  I caught a glimpse of her—scary as anything…why…"  But Pippin's tongue fell silent as he realized that the halfling he spoke of was standing right behind him—exactly what Merry had been trying to warn him about.

"You would look like you were out for blood as well if you had been traveling for eighteen days straight only to be denied entrance to what you where looking for," she said, her eyes glittering, her face solemn.

Pippin made a sort of noise at the back of his throat as he stumbled to hide behind Merry, who only tried to hide behind Pippin.

"What is the meaning of this?" Elrond demanded as he towered over the hobbit-maiden.

She was of average hobbit height, with a build that seems thin and tough from a harsh life.  She had large blue eyes in her oval face, and short brown hair that fell past her ears in small clumps.  She appeared travelworn and weary, yet her eyes were bright and alert to all.  She was dressed in plain elven clothing, and the sword and sheath were of elven design.  She didn't wear elven slippers, but she did were leggings, which made her look all the more queer—this hobbit girl that seemed a mix of two worlds.

She looked into the face of Elrond, and undid her sword belt.  She placed the sheathed sword onto to the ground, at Elrond's feet.

"I come in peace," she calmly said as she straightened back up.  "I _came  in peace, before I was so grievously treated by those standing guard of Rivendell.  I have traveled long and hard from Lothlorien.  Eighteen days have I traveled total—two long days and two sleepless nights where spent trying to pass through Dimrill Dale.  The rest I have spent riding hard.  My horse and I are weary—but I have traveled thus for the ringbearer, and to turn me away now would be a foolish mistake.  Now—where is he who bears the Ring of Power?"_

"What authority gives you the right to demand such things?" asked Strider, his eyes wary of the hobbit.

"A prophecy of old," was her quick reply.

"And what prophecy is that?" was his reply.

The hobbit stood before the Council, her stance strong and proud.  She then began to recite in elvish,

_A small one shall bear up the Burdened one,_

_When that burden proves too great._

            Gandalf's face lit with sudden recognition, and his voice joined hers to finish the prophecy.

_She will lead him into the Dark Land,_

_Right passed its very gate._

            "Yes—yes," Gandalf said softly, "Now I remember—it is a simple short prophecy, yet it is as important as anything else in deciding the fate of the Ring."  He looked at the hobbit-maiden, respect in his eyes.  "They say that the Fates would chose the one that this prophecy spoke of."

            "They spoke truthfully."

            Gandalf nodded as he rose from his seat.  "Such are this days, when things long forgotten come into light."  He walked over to the hobbit-maiden, and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.  "Elrond," he began, "I believe it would be best to halt the Council until this newcomer has rested and can attend."  Looking back down at the hobbit-maiden, he continued.  "For she, indeed, will play just as large a role as anyone else, if not greater."

            Elrond nodded his consent, and motioned for the Council to break for the day.  The hobbit nodded her thanks to the elf lord, and allowed Gandalf to gently steer her away from the porch.

            "Such days are these," Bilbo said as he leaned towards Frodo.  "I fear no book could be big enough to hold the tale."

            Frodo just stared at the receding forms of the wizard and the hobbit, until they turned a corner, and could no longer be seen.

_Yea, I know I'm kinda merging book and movie—bite me._

_~*IMP*~_


	4. Hobbit Musings...

            "Merry—don't look to your right."

            Merry looked at Pippin.  "Why not?" he asked, confused. 

            "Just don't look—Ah!" Pippin cried in disgust.  "Why did you look?"

            "What's the big deal Pip?" Merry asked as he looked back towards Pippin.  "It's only the hobbit that showed up yesterday."

            Pippin cautiously looked over Merry's head, and immediately turned away, trying to shrink and appear innocent at the same time.  "She did it again," he muttered.

            "Did what?"

            "Looked this way."

            Merry's eyebrows rose.  "What?"

            "She looked over here again…that's the fifth time I've seen her do it."

            Merry looked to the right again—to Pippin's dismay—and looked at the girl.  She was standing on the porch outside of her room dressed in a loose robe of sorts.  It looked as if she had just come out of the bath, for she was drying her short hair with a cloth and staring solemnly at the beautiful visage that laid before her. 

            "She's just standing there, Pip."

            "I'm telling you, she was looking at us—kept glancing over with those keen eyes of hers and then looking away."  Pippin peered over Merry's head again—only this time, he wasn't trying to be as sneaky.  "Hey Merry," he started, "does she look familiar to you?"

            "What?"

            "Just look at her—does she look familiar?"

            Merry grumbled something about Tooks as he turned to the right again.  He looked at her, intently studying Rivendell, when those intent eyes turned on him.

            Merry was quick to turn back around, and try to look as if he hadn't noticed her.  "The eyes look familiar," Merry said, a bit taken back. "Definitely something about the eyes."  He turned towards Pippin.  "How's about we move?" he asked, trying to sound relaxed.  But in fact, he wanted to get far out of sight of the strange girl.

            Pippin ignored him as he leaned against the porch railing, looking pleased with himself.  "I thought she looked like _someone_ from the Shire.  Hey, Merry?" he asked again.  "Which family do you think she's from?  I mean, she's got to be related to someone back home, since where else would you find hobbits but the Shire?"

            "I don't know, Pip—besides, it's none of our business," Merry warned him, his tone final.

            "You sound just like Sam, Merry," Pippin whined.  "But still…I wonder how she ended up here…"

            "_Pippin_…"

            "She looks awful serious—kind of sad like," Pippin suddenly said.  "Look at her—she looks as if she's never smiled a day in her life."  He nudged Merry.  "Well, go on!  Look!"

            Merry sighed as he looked again, by now quite a bit peeved.  She was still standing there, though now Merry could only see a  profile of her face.  Her mouth seemed to turn naturally into a frown, and her face seemed hard.  Her gaze then fell from the mountains, and turning her back to them, she walked back into her room. 

            Merry looked back at Pippin.  Pippin had leaned over the railing to get a better look.  He had a very thoughtful look on his face, which surprised Merry—Pippin never looked thoughtful, even a little bit.  "I bet…" Pippin began slowly, "I bet that I could make her smile."

            "Isn't that a bit too ambitious?" Merry countered.

            "Is not!"

            "It is too!  Come on Pip—she's just shown up, and you could call me an elf if she wasn't a seasoned warrior…or a seasoned something, a least."  Merry leaned his back on the railing as he looked at Pippin.  "What I'm trying to say is that once the council ends, we're going to head back towards the Shire, and she's probably going to head in the exact opposite direction without so much as a smirk."

            "So are you trying to say I couldn't make her smile?" Pippin asked, seemingly offended.

            "I doubt that your quick cheerfulness and winning charms would win her over."

            "I bet they could!"

            "Well, I bet they can't."

            "Well then—it's a bet!  I bet you a pint of ale at the Prancing Pony that not only will I make her smile by the time we part company with her, but that I'll make her laugh as well!"

            "Then that pint's as good as mine," Merry said as he and Pippin shook hands.  "It's a bet."

            "It's a bet, alright.  I'll show you, Meriadoc Brandybuck," Pippin smugly said.

            "We'll see, Peregrin Took."


	5. Caradhras...

            "Come—we climb Caradhras today, through the Redhorn Gate."

            The four hobbits looked up from their late afternoon meal, and into Lorelle's solemn face.  Months had passed since the Council, and the company, the fellowship, was traveling towards the Dark Land to destroy the One Ring.  

            Frodo rose, his mind elsewhere, recalling the day he had taken the burden of being the ring bearer.  _'I will take the Ring,' _he had said.  Though now, with the weight of that same Ring heavy on his chest, the pang of regret began to gnaw at him.  

            "Boromir has ordered that each of us carry a faggot up the mountain," Lorelle continued as she placed her pack on her back—she had left her horse in Rivendell.  _'And if we go were horses cannot, why then would I then risk bringing Abargon?'_ had been her reason. "The cold will be deadly—winter has already covered Caradhras' shoulders."

            Frodo looked at Lorelle as she walked towards Aragorn and Gandalf.  _'You shall not walk into Mordor alone' _ she had said, immediately after he had offered to bear the Ring.  She had knelt in front of him, and had sworn that she would protect him until death.  And since the day they had left Rivendell, she had watched over him like a hawk, never truly letting him out of her sight.  

            It had been unnerving—it still was unnerving, suddenly discovering her sharp eyes were on him ever once and a while.  "_Like a mother hen_," Sam had likened her too one night.

            "Well, come then," Merry said.  "It doesn't look like they're going to wait for us if we dawdle."

~*~

            "Well—this is a fine pickle of a place to be suck in," Sam said through chattering teeth.

            "I'm so cold," Merry complained as he leaned forward.

            The fellowship had been forced to stop and wait the storm out.  The bitter cruel wind whipped around them, taunting their puny efforts to stay warm.  The hobbits had all sat in the snow, huddled in a circle, their backs to the wind.  Even Lorelle joined them, as they tried to keep the wind out.

            "Frodo," Lorelle suddenly said as she jostled the still figure.  Frodo raised his head drowsily.  "Frodo, you must not fall asleep," she warned.  "In this cold, you will not wake up."

            He nodded, and Lorelle protectively placed her arm around him, trying to keep him warm.  She looked up over the other's heads, trying to see Gandalf and Aragorn through the blinding snow.  "If this snow doesn't let up, we will have to turn back," she said, more to herself.

            "But which way would we go?" Pippin asked.

            Lorelle sighed as she turned back into the circle, and leaned forward, resting her head upon her raised knee.  "There is only one other way that they others discussed."  Her face clouded over is slight anger.  "And I'd rather freeze up here than travel through the darkness of Moria!"

            "Moria?"

            "Yes—the Mines of Moria."  She shook her head forebodingly.  "In my heart I dread those tunnels.  For years have the elves spoken of the great evil that dwells there."

            "Great evil?" Merry repeated, looking a bit paler.

            Lorelle nodded grimly.  "The elves spoke of a Shadow of Fire and Smoke—Durin's Bane they called it."  She then shrugged, and pulled her cloak closer.  "But if that is but a myth, there will always be the orcs of the Misty Mountains to deal with."

            "Orcs?" Sam repeated, growing pale himself.

            Pippin made a scoffing noise as he pulled his cloak around him tighter.  "Well, you're all a cheery lot," he said as he looked at them.  "Shadows? Orcs?  Banes and doom…what good are they to us if we all freeze up here before we can go marching to met them?"

            He nudged Merry and Sam.  "Come on—let's have a song or a story or something to keep us awake instead of just sitting here, waiting for the snow to cover us and old Bill."

            "It's too cold for a song or a story," Sam grumbled.  "I can barely move my face."

            "Oh come on…anybody?  Come on Merry," Pippin said, nudging Merry again.

            "Quit nudging me," Merry snapped.  "And if you've so desperate for a song or story, then you sing or tell one.  Don't go asking us."

            Pippin shrugged, and gave a grin.  "Well then…what would you like to hear?"

            "NOT a song," Frodo interrupted, wearily grinning at the Took.

            "Well alright," Pippin said, feigning hurt.  "I can take a hint…I know my voice isn't the best, but…"

            "Can you tell me about where you're from?"

            All eyes turned to Lorelle, who had placed her chin on her raised knee again.

            "You want to know about the Shire?" Pippin asked.

            "Yes," she replied, her voice a little less commanding than usual.  "Yes, I would."

            "Well…er…what would you like to know about the Shire?" Pippin asked.

            "What's it like?" she asked.

            "Er…can you be a _bit_ more specific?" Pippin asked, a little daunted by her request.

            And if the surprise that Pippin was a little overwhelmed by having to explain something wasn't a little shocking, then the next thing was.

            Lorelle's lips turned up, into a smirk.  It was slight, but it was an unmistakable smirk that suddenly transformed her from a cautious guardian to an actual hobbit.

            And Pippin nearly fell backwards in surprise and delight.  "She smiled!  She smiled!" he cried, pointing and laughing in glee.  He then began to violently nudge Merry.  "You, Meriadoc Brandybuck, own me an ale!"

            "The bet was for a smile AND a laugh, you ass," Merry grumbled.  "So the ale is still as good as mine."

            "And what was that all about?" Lorelle asked, raising her eyebrows.

            "Sometimes it's best not to ask what those two have been up too, Lorelle," Frodo warned her.

            "I think I shall take your advice, Frodo," she said as she leaned back a little, looking at Pippin and Merry.

            "Well…I suppose I can try to tell you what I can of the Shire," Pippin said, preparing himself for a long tale.

            But he was interrupted.

            A hand clamped down on Lorelle's shoulder.  Looking up, they could see the Boromir standing over them.  "Come, my little friends," he said, "We can no longer stay here.  We must travel back the way we came."

            "Caradhras may be cruel, but even he has never been this spiteful," Gandalf yelled at them over the wind.  "This is the hand of Saruman, pulling snow down from the North.  We must get off this mountain."

            Lorelle struggled to rise—even the cold had affected her.  "And pray tell, what other path would we take?" was her question.

            "The only path left open to us goes through the Moria Mines."

            The hobbit's watched her face fall, growing frustrated and weary.  "So it will be!" was her reply, though only the hobbit's could here the rest she said.  "The path I dread to take is the only one left. Moria!  May you not be so dark as you have been described by the Elves."

_A'sN:  Next chapter, Wargs and Moria!!  Lorelle kicks some ass. :-p  I hope you've been liking it so far. But enough about me.  I wish to bring a rather distressing issue to your eyes.  My dear friend Singe, who's author name is   _ _singe aliene de piano __is writing a rather good story about how everyone's favorite hobbits are transported to New York City.  It's really good, it's not cliched, and the plot conveniences are at a minimum, in my opinion.  Anywho, I am shamelessly plugging for her, in the hope that you will actually give a damn about her plight, and go and read and review her story, entitled "the village hobbits".  Come on, vut her some slack, she hardely gets any reviews for her really good fics and it's a crying shame.  You all know that if it was you, you'd want some feedback.  So go and support your fellow author TODAY!_

_Thank you._

_Cordially yours,_

_~*IMP*~_


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